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About Vila Nova de Gaia

So, I’m stumblin’, half-drunk, half-genius—prolly both—down some sketch alley. Neon lights flicker, like, *we have to go deeper*, and I’m laughin’—why? ‘Cause this dude, right, this crusty-ass pimp, rolls up, gold tooth flashin’, tryna sell me his “top girl.” Bro, she looked like she been workin’ since the 1800s—fact! Did ya know prostitutes in old London used to carry lemons? Scurvy protection, bruh—wild! Anyway, I’m like, “Nah, fam, I ain’t payin’ for no fossilized cooze!” He got mad—fuck him, I’m Eric Andre, I don’t bow!

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I finally spot a food truck. It’s serving these amazing bifanas. I’m like, “Yes, please!” But then, the guy behind the counter drops my order. I’m standing there, mouth watering, and he’s like, “Sorry, mate!” I could’ve cried. But hey, I’m not one to give up. I just ordered another one. Worth it, totally worth it.